


if it's a matter of deserving

by HaleHole (SweetFanfics)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 10:50:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetFanfics/pseuds/HaleHole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“One of these days, dude…” Stiles had groaned while hefting Derek into the Jeep. “I’m gonna tell you all the ways I hate the way you like to make dramatic entrances.”</p><p>Canon Alteration: What if Stiles had been in school at the end of Frayed? How would that have panned out?</p>
            </blockquote>





	if it's a matter of deserving

**Author's Note:**

  * For [qhuinn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/qhuinn/gifts).



> [Inspired by this beautiful edit/manip by qhuinn](http://qhuinn.tumblr.com/post/54973841580/im-so-glad-youre-alive)  
> Stiles is 16 in this fic but there's nothing more than consensual kissing going on.

“ _God,_ I wish I’d kept that stupid first aid box in my Jeep.” Stiles grumbled under his breath, peeling away the Derek’s torn and bloodied shirt off his torso.  He told himself to focus (not on the abs or the defined body being revealed to him because Stiles really, you’ve seen it before stop gawking like a 13 year old girl at a Beiber concert) on not further aggravating Derek’s already extensive wounds.

 

He couldn’t help but make gag slightly when the shoulder wound oozed out black blood. “I’m going to need so many hours of therapy for this.” Stiles choked out, waving a hand under his nose before taking a few steps back. The stench of blood appeared to have crawled up his olfactory senses and set up camp. Stiles wriggled his nose and squeezed his nostrils, hoping to somehow jostle the scent away.

 

The distant rumble of thunder made him look out the window, fingers still pinching his nose. It barely took a minute before rain was pattering down over the city. Crossing his arms, he wondered how the others were doing on their meet and whether or not they were getting soaked in the same rain. “Just my luck.” Stiles sighed to no in particular. “Looks like I’m stuck here again.”

 

On one hand, he’d gotten out of what would probably have been a hot mess of a trip (although he did feel terrible for leaving Scott alone to deal with Isaac and Boyd, especially since he was injured himself! But apparently being informed through text that Derek was alive had helped him (and the other two werewolves) heal faster? Stiles wasn't sure if that was a psychological block or a werewolf thing). 

 

But on the other hand, Derek was alive! And had probably shaved off eh five years off Stiles’ life when he’d staggered up to his Jeep door and smacked a bloody palm print into the glass. “One of these days, dude…” Stiles had groaned while hefting Derek into the Jeep. “I’m gonna tell you all the ways I hate the way you like to make dramatic entrances.”

 

Coach was totally going to have his head for skipping the meet. Or maybe he’d be sympathetic that Stiles suddenly had come down with a violent case of food poisoning (thanks for the quick thinking there Scott). Stiles couldn’t stop himself from huffing in amusement as he recalled all the threats that Finnstock had yelled down the phone until Stiles had started rambling about how much he’d been throwing up. 

 

 _'I gotta remember that_.’ Stiles pondered idly, head turning towards the bed when he heard the soft rustle of sheets. He caught sight of Derek shifting and waited. The older man was slowly pushing himself up into a seated position, face looking haggard and drawn as he looked up at Stiles. “Hey.” Stiles offered, giving Derek a two fingered salute. “How you feeling?”

 

He was expecting a tired but weary look that would say ‘really Stiles?’. Not the utterly dead tired look in Derek’s eyes. “Like I almost died.” Derek murmured, arms tense as he looked around his apartment. “It’s just you?”

 

Stiles nodded, taking a step forward. “Yeah. The others are out of town. Attending this meet thing.” One more step forward, the smell of blood began to drift up his nostrils again. “You look like hell.” As harsh as the words were, Stiles was careful to say them with great gentleness. Another step and he could reach out and touch Derek’s tense shoulder. “Anything I can do to to help?” The corner of his lips turned up into a weak smirk. “Want me to get a saw and cut something off? Or find a pool?”

 

The tiny huff that passed Derek’s mouth sounded like victory to Stiles, doubly so when the man gave him the fond-tired look he was so often receiving. “But seriously. What can I do to help?” Stiles felt a little stupid doing it but he knelt down in front of Derek, wanting to show that he was there to help and that he cared. 

 

Carefully he placed a tentative hand on Derek’s thigh and let it rest there, peering up into the pale eyes staring down at him. Stiles wasn’t entirely sure why he was doing this, well besides the fact that he wanted to help and how could he not help when Derek had dragged his almost dead ass to his Jeep in the school parking lot from an abandoned mall and then just passed out! Stiles was an upstanding citizen who did  _not_ let his acquaintances bleed out on the concrete. Besides, that would raise too many questions.

 

But maybe it went deeper than that, he mused, fingers sliding higher and higher until he could curl his hands around Derek’s forearm. “Derek?” Stiles asked quietly.

 

Derek shook his head, a gentle side to side motion that made his body sway slightly. “They’ll heal on their own. I just need time.”

 

He couldn’t have stopped himself from making a disbelieving face at the deep bloodied gashes even if someone had paid him. “Seriously?” Stiles asked, eyebrows high up his forehead. “Those look pretty bad. I could call Deaton and-“

 

"No." Derek cut him off immediately. "I don’t need any help. I’ll be fine." He ducked his head and looked away, making Stiles lean forward and tilt to the side in a poor bid to catch his gaze again. "You should go home."

 

Snorting, Stiles leaned slightly more to the side. “Yeah about that. Can’t. Dad thinks that I’m out of town with the others. Plus, in case you haven’t noticed.” He jerked his thumb at the windows and the rain trickling down the glass. “I’d rather not take a chance.”

 

"You still shouldn’t be here." The quiet, gravelly softness with which Derek uttered the words made something in Stiles’ twist painfully.

 

It made him frown hard at Derek when he blinked and turned back towards Stiles. “Yeah well…You shouldn’t be looking like someone put you through an industrial sized paper shredder but here we are.” Stiles snipped back, keeping his voice low and private as well. God only knew for what reason because shouldn’t this be the part where Derek would scowl at him and tell him to leave already?  

 

Every thud of his heart inside his chest  _ached_ at the weary look Derek gave him. “If you stay here, you’re only going to get hurt.”

 

The almost warning made a tiny curl of anger curl around his heart because “Little too late for that don’t you think?” Stiles pointed out wryly, fingers sliding down Derek’s arm to rest loosely around his wrist. 

 

Stubborn even when he was hurt so bad, Derek shook his head and looked down at the floor, or maybe Stiles’ knees. “ _Everyone_  around me gets hurt.” Derek admitted roughly, eyes shadowed in the poorly lit loft. Stiles should have turned on more of the lights when the storm had started. “Or worse.”

 

It was hard to swallow around the lump that’d grown out of nowhere in his throat. Stiles blinked hard, tried not to think too hard about the flash of golden waves and red lips in the quick second of darkness. “That’s life.” Stiles offered weakly, fingers tightening as he ducked his head down as well. “You can’t stop that.” 

 

Stiles didn’t have the words to describe the look that Derek gave him that. Blank? Tired? Disbelieving? It was something new - something that didn’t have a place on the man’s face because no one should look the way Derek was at that moment. Like he was defeated and had long since given up. 

 

Slowly, and oh so carefully, Stiles began to push himself up. Still on his knees but just getting closer to Derek’s crouched body. He kept his lips pressed together tight, scared that if he said anything now, Derek would clam up or worse, ask him to leave again. Stiles didn’t dare risk that - not right now in this fragile moment.

 

He looked down at his hand, wondered briefly about why Derek was allowing the contact (and just as quickly wondered when was the last time someone had offered a friendly touch to Derek. Was it Laura? Maybe Isaac or Boyd? Or did his surly nature prevent anyone and everyone from offering even a simple shoulder bump? Did he yearn for love and comfort in the same way Stiles sometimes did?). Brown eyes darted over the large gashes that glistened dully with every inhale-exhale of Derek’s body.

 

With a one last nervous glance at the wounds, Stiles inhaled slow and deep before turning his gaze up at Derek. They were face to face. Derek’s eyes shone with the barest hint of curiosity and something (maybe something? Stiles didn’t want to know what that look was) as Stiles began to lean in.

 

He waited for Derek to move away, counting the seconds he held his breath and moved closer and closer. The smell of blood was tinted with the scent of dust, dirt and sweat. The strange mix made his head spin - maybe because it was Derek or maybe because he was holding his breath actually…

 

Heady didn’t even  _begin_ to describe how he felt when Stiles tilted his face and pressed a warm, dry kiss to Derek’s lips. At some point earlier during their conversation, his brain had cut all communications from the rest of his body without any kind of prior notice. And it remained blissfully silent when he felt Derek’s lips just so against his, kissing him back with the same amount of care.

 

Warmth rushed through him at the hesitation that Stiles could taste on his lips, tempered by the same twisty ache from before. Half way through the kiss, Stiles remembered that a. Derek was still hurt pretty badly and b. it was probably bad manners to just lay a kiss on someone without their permission. Or that’s how he had felt when Heather had done that to him. (It had been nice sure but really, kinda rude to be blind sided like that without his permission).

 

His lips felt swollen, kind of like how they did after he’d spent a few worried hours biting them.  _'Just from one kiss.'_   Stiles thought numbly, sucking in the warm breath that was being expelled from Derek’s parted lips. Stiles pressed his lips together, tongue trying to taste the residue of the kiss as he pressed his forehead against Derek’s.

 

One shaky breath, one long exhale, half an inhale and Stiles found his breath being stolen away by a kiss so  _desperate_ that he was glad that he hadn’t been standing or else his knees would have given out. Squeezing his eyes shut, Stiles brought both his hands up to cup Derek’s neck, touching his skin reverently as they kissed and kissed and kissed. 

 

Tears stung the back of his eyelids for some reason, rising along with the desperate desire to reach into Derek and pull out whatever it was that was causing him to feel so hurt and so … so…. The thought died in the heat that shot through him when Derek’s hands grasped his arms and pulled him in closer. The touch made Stiles feel as though he was soaking in whatever Derek was feeling, making him feel restless and  agitated as he caught the werewolf’s lip between both of his and sucked quickly before releasing it. 

 

It wasn’t a surprise that Derek was quiet during this. The surprise was that  _he_ was. But when he felt a hot hand press against the nape of his neck and slide into his hair, Stiles whimpered and fell forward against Derek. The pained hiss that immediately worked its way into his throat made Stiles pull away, panting harshly as he muttered, “Shit! Sorry!” 

 

Stiles stared down in dazed bewilderment when he realized that somehow, he’d gotten himself up on the bed and was straddling Derek’s thighs. When and how did  _that_ happen and where had  _he been?_  Derek had one arm curled around his stomach, protecting the wounds with a heavy grimace. “I didn’t hurt you did I?” Stiles asked worriedly, not wanting to find out that one moment of blind and unexplainable passion had somehow caused Derek’s wounds to grow worse.

 

"No." Derek grunted out, shaking his head. "It’s fine." Stiles was ready to argue that statement but instead opted to run feather light fingers over the scratches on Derek’s shoulders. Stiles made a face at the dried blood, wondering how much pain the older man was in before letting his hand wander back up to rest against the underside of Derek’s jaw. “Are you?”

 

Peering down at Derek, the corner of his lips twitched up sardonically at the odd query. “I’m no the one with the scratches here.” Stiles quipped. Then more seriously, Stiles peered down at Derek’s stomach and mumbled, “I don’t think they’re healing right… Aren’t they supposed to heal faster than this? I mean, you got slashed almost a whole day ago. And Scott’s already fine ‘cause we told him that you were okay so what’s…”

 

Something clicked in Stiles’ mind, making him frown heavily at Derek. “What’s keeping you from healing?” He asked sharply, hands tightening in a way that was supposed to tell Derek that he couldn’t just look away from Stiles and avoid answering him. Not that didn’t stop Derek’s pale eyes from guiltily shifting away to look out the windows. “ _Dere_ _k._ " Stiles said insistently.

 

"I deserve these." Derek murmured to the water trickling down the glass,. The three softly spoken words made Stiles clench his teeth so hard that his jaw ached. It took everything he had to not pull away from Derek and/or hit him. Because Stiles could understood where Derek was coming from and that was probably the worst of it. Not that it didn’t make him want to grab the man by the shoulders and shake him till his teeth rattled inside his head.

 

Instead, he sighed heavily and pressed his forehead back against Derek’s. “You’re such an  _idiot_.” Stiles breathed out angrily, squeezing his eyes shut. “You don’t get to decide what you do and don’t deserve, okay? And if you’re going to take that road then Isaac and Boyd  _deserve_ an alpha who is alive and kicking. Not one who’s on some kind of self sacrificing martyr kick.” 

 

Opening his eyes, he levelled Derek with a fierce gaze. “You  _deserve_  to have your ass kicked up and down town for acting like everything that’s happened in your fault! News flash, the world doesn’t revolve around you! So check your damned ego at the door and man up! You need to get better. You need to heal, get back to 100%, tell your sister and your crazy uncle that you’re okay and then  _we’re going to fix this!_ Got it?!”

 

He knew that he was all but  _daring_ Derek to argue back but dammit, Stiles wasn’t putting up with any pity parties - not tonight and not with Derek. Stiles never liked seeing the people he cared walking around as though they were carrying around the weight of the world on their shoulders. And while he could understand guilt (God only knew that he could and did), he also knew that there was a limit before which guilt turned into self pity. 

 

Derek ought to be walking around with his back straight and head high, showing off that stubborn pride that had kept him alive and kicking! Stiles wanted to see the man who was so proud that he’d rather pretend that he knew everything rather than show that he was scared and didn’t know what he was doing. Although he could do without that part of Derek that was just  _so terrible_ at actually communicating with people. 

 

Stiles started in surprise when he caught sight of Derek’s shoulder scratches fading away into pale skin. “What the?” He gasped, eyes darting down to stare with wide eyes at the gaping wounds that disappeared in the blink of an eye. “How in the…” Stiles’ looked up at Derek before looking back at the places where the bleeding wounds had been before articulating, “ _What the hell?_ ”

 

There was a fond look in Derek’s pale eyes, tinted with the barest shade of amusement at Stiles’ expense. “I told you I’d be fine.” 

 

Unable to stop himself, Stiles pressed his lips together and punched Derek’s arm (not the freshly healed one, thank you very much. He had more manners and good sense than  _that_..) “You say a lot of shit! I’m never sure how much to trust you when it comes to yourself okay.”

 

Derek’s bland hmmm made him pause and eye him warily. That didn’t sound good for him… Stiles would swear later that he didn’t squeak when Derek’s hands slid up his back suddenly and warmed his shoulders while pulling him up against Derek’s now healed chest. “You should trust me more often.” The quiet rumble made Stiles’ knees make a valiant attempt to turn into jelly.

 

"I trust you just enough." Stiles grumbled weakly, eyes already darting between Derek’s eyes and his lips. He could hope for more kisses now right? It was okay to hope for that? Hope now, get kisses now, think and overthink this change in their relationship later. Say, possibly three decades later or something?

 

The amused little huff that Derek let out brushed over Stiles’ upper lip, making him shiver and lean in. Forget words, they were over rated anyways. It was a lot more interesting to hold their conversation through spine tingling kisses and deliberate caresses over bare skin. Stiles might even qualify it as the best conversation he’d ever had with anyone  _ever_. It was that awesome. His whispered admission made Derek chuff a laugh against his chest, stubble and soft lips rubbing against a nipple before he stated, “You think too much.”

 

"There’s ways to stop that." Stiles offered in a shy, hopeful tone, grinning slightly at the wry look Derek gave him. "It was too easy, I couldn’t resist."

 

"You never can." Derek sighed, coming back up between Stiles’ welcoming arms to kiss him once more. With a please little noise that was supposed to say ‘Yeah, well, what can you do about that’, Stiles curled a leg around Derek’s waist and pulled him in closer.


End file.
